


All that I Know Extras

by ParadoxinMotion



Series: The Fashion AU [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Fic accompaniment, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, bloopers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxinMotion/pseuds/ParadoxinMotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the bloopers, side notes, and personal headcanons that go along with my fic All that I Know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One Extras

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishingclocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/gifts).



> Still for 'Clocks. 
> 
> Personal note
> 
> **Sentence that didn't make it in ******

Edward Elric is convinced, with empirical evidence, that his job does not pay him nearly enough.

It’s not the early mornings with a boss that acts like he’s a personal slave instead of a valued human being. It’s also not that the sheer _incompetency_ of the photographers overwhelming him. He isn’t even phased by the shitty quality of the coffee they brew in those miserable excuses for ‘pots’, which Ed wouldn’t even trust drugs to, let alone coffee. **And not that Ed’s tried pot. Except maybe he has. For science.** No. What really, _really_ gets to him is that people see him doing his job and think it’s something you can just switch out. That he’s somehow _easily replaceable_ and anyone could do it just as well. Well, he’s here this morning, at the ass-crack of dawn and armed only with his coffee, to prove them wrong. Ed is actually not a morning person, contrary to popular belief. He’s very _used_ to getting up early because of his job, and from school. So it’s more like a begrudging acceptance that he makes the best out of. Plus, Roy is the farthest thing from a morning person you can envision, so Ed likes poking fun at him.

Don’t misunderstand: Edward Elric is not an insecure person. He doesn’t want to show people the sheer magnitude of their flawed reasoning because he has to convince everyone that he has some value. He _knows_ he has value, and wields it, too, thank you very much. But what he _does_? What he comes in every fucking weekday to accomplish and see through? That shit is invaluable, any future employee beware. **He thinks of some other person here, working in his place, and winces. Strangely, it seems almost as painful to him as it would be to them.**

People liked to complain about the Amestris modelling agency. _It sounds too much like ‘Armani’,_ they’d whine, _And they only have, like,_ one _model who’s even famous._ That’s actually not true; they have several ‘famous’ models, but we only really get to meet this one. 

Well, maybe they’re right. Maybe Amestris is a damn homonym-promoting, ego-inflating agency, he can get behind that. Or at least out of its way as it ploughs competition aside. At least Amestris does it fucking _well._

And they take their jobs seriously, however much shit Ed might get for his work. Being the personal assistant in a place like this is a teetering precipice on a cutthroat edge, and the PA of that _one model_ people like to joke about. Ed rolls his eyes as he shoulders his way inside, stopping at the ‘mail table’ to check for anything new. He sets down one of the coffees in his free hand as he begins to parse through the newest paper cargo. Roy Mustang is the man who above all others did not need to hear that reputation; if his ego goes up one more notch, Ed is going to make a barometer for determining it.

“Yo, Jean,” he calls, pushing through countless magazines, folders, and envelopes. The camera-man pops his head past the doorway, chewing on a bagel. There is a smudge of cream cheese on his upper lip. I headcanon that Jean has a (not so) secret love of bagels. “Did anything come for Roy? Y’know he’s expecting that information package.”

Jean nods, at least having the grace to chew and swallow before speaking. “If anything came, it would be in the Basket.” The basket is an ancient gift that a former fashion consultant left upon leaving the business. He wasn’t a very nice person, and nobody really likes the basket, but throwing it away feels wrong. So they make use of it this way. Then he disappears again, no doubt to finish his bagel in the last few minutes of peace before the office really comes to life.

Ed raises his eyebrows, turning towards the ominous creel with fraying wood. It sits on the back corner of the table, seemingly staring at him balefully. His other coffee is still sitting in front of it innocently.

“What.” Ed says to the basket, chugging back _his_ coffee.

The basket makes no reply. **Ed’s not sure what kind of reply the basket _would_ make, but it probably wouldn’t be a nice one.**

“Fine, then. I don’t need your affirmation,” Edward declares, striding towards it until he can look in its aged depths. There is a single manila folder, almost purposefully pushed to the very bottom so that Ed really has to _reach_ to pull it out. A little crinkled, but no worse for wear. Tucking the folder under his arm and picking up the other coffee, he leaves the silent but no doubt disparaged basket behind. Heaving a satisfied sigh, he makes his way to the elevator and punches the button, waiting for the doors to open with the customary _ding!_

He steps inside and somewhat awkwardly presses the **12,** relaxing for a few moments as he feels it rise. Lids sliding shut over golden eyes, he leans against the unforgiving metal. Sure, people take him for granted. They don’t think about the minutiae he does.

The button dings, the doors slide open, and Ed is on the brink of the flurried gauntlet on the mysterious Floor 12. Grinning, he grips his coffees a little tighter and darts through. Imagine a crowded street, filled with desperate college students, angry old businessmen, a few jogging soccer moms. You’re getting a picture of what this office floor looks like. The editorial manager sincerely hates seeing employees be still, so this is honestly the preferable option. 

He might be the only one to identify this place as a gauntlet, but it’s definitely true. Most of the lower employees have mentioned, casually or otherwise, that they want to take a peek up there. Ed doesn’t blame them; in fact, he’d be finding any excuse necessary to sneak a look if he was trapped down _there._ Roy jokingly dubbed floor 12 as not just Headquarters, but the Military Headquarters, and Ed is inclined to agree with him.

He gets through the hallway, nearly crashing into a few people on the way. It’s a big floor, filled with huge windows made of reflective glass and clean, cream-coloured walls. It’s a little too crisp for his taste; he’d throw a few dashes of red or dark blue in there if it were up to him, but he can’t deny that the space feels _clean,_ and ready to be worked in. And that’s the intended effect, right? Ed would probably have an entire floor just painted with red walls and golden doorknobs. He’d terrify potential editors, but Roy would probably let him if it were up to him. It’s only natural selection.

At the end of the hall and to the left, there’s the closed door he’s been looking for. Most of the occupied offices have doors slightly ajar, or even wide open, but not this one. Ed rolls his eyes at the unspoken, if tragic, drama of it all, and practically kicks the door open with his hands occupied.

“Yippee ki yay, motherfucker,” he says, by way of greeting.

A muffled groan answers him from the desk to the far left. The whole office, big as a small apartment, is walled with reflective glass windows, and the place is bathed in light. The sky is clear and blue above them, dotted with only the occasional cloud. Ed breathes through his nose, opens the door about halfway, and moves forward.

Roy is resting his head on his arms, which are currently on the desk. His dark hair is a gory tangle that he no doubt brushed that morning, but without consciously thinking about it. **Ed wonders privately if he ever thinks about it, or if he puts as much care and attention into his appearance as he’s reputed to. He really knows so much about Roy, but not this. Not what he does when he’s by himself, away from flashing cameras or annoying PAs.** Certainly _not_ thinking about whether he’d be spotted or not. Of course. Because higher thinking was what they’re paying _Ed_ for. It’s almost Nine in the morning, but you’d think Roy had dragged himself in at Six. Ed knows for a fact that Roy often times stays up later than necessary to work, but early mornings are the bane of his existence. Wouldn’t be caught in one for the world, or even a well-made macchiato. Roy is definitely not a morning person. At all. He could probably fulfil the ‘sleepy and cute’ stereotype if he wanted to, but Roy only really cares about doing that for one person, so it isn’t worth the effort. 

Speaking of…”Got your morning hit, Mustang. So get off your lousy ass and drink it so we can get some decent work outta you.”

“I’m not on my ass, which is _not_ lousy; I’m on my arms.” Roy’s voice is slightly muffled, but the snark leaks right through. **Just to be spiteful, he shifts on his ass and buries his face a little deeper in warm darkness.**

Ed sighs, sets his own (nearly empty) coffee cup and the folder down, and takes a sip of Roy’s own.

The man has animal instincts. “Are you _drinking_ my _coffee_?” He demands, peeking up through his arms.

Ed looks down at him stonily and answers by taking another sip. Roy’s eyes widen and he lunges to successfully swipe the coffee from Ed’s hand. It’s a violent, primitive gesture, but Ed knows that he’s really getting off lucky. If anyone else had sipped that coffee, Roy would have probably clawed their face off with those perfectly manicured nails.

He folds his arms while Roy takes a long, needy gulp, and then sets it down, having the good grace to look a _little_ ashamed of himself. #RoyMustangconfirmedasdrugaddict2k16

“I’ve told you not to drink my coffee before,” he says, already sounding significantly more awake.

Ed waves a hand, still standing in front of the desk. “And you’ve told me not to answer your calls, get you extra toilet paper for your little shithouse here, and try to cook. I’ve done all of those and you’ve never complained.”

“Well, I _have_ complained about you cooking,” Roy replies mildly. Ed once blew up his kitchen and had to survive off of the cafeteria kitchen at his college until it got fixed. Somehow, it got around to Roy. 

“Semantics,” Ed waves a hand dismissively and walks around the office. He wrinkles his nose critically at the haphazardly dropped stack of paper on the floor, and the slightly dusty coffee table. God knows Roy had never drunk coffee on that, and probably never would. He swipes a finger through the dust, leaving a single long trail. Wiping his finger, he turns back to Roy, who is drinking his coffee with a blissful expression. “Were you just hiding from the light when I came in here, or have you done _anything_ this morning?”

Roy looks back at him, affronted. “I’ll have you know, I already met with Roach about the publicity agreement and got that out of the way. My day has brightened significantly.” But was it that meeting that brightened your day, Roy? Hmmm?

Ed snorts. “You know, I think the name ‘Roach’ is well deserved. He’s browned from that shitty tan he insists on, generally terrifying in an inexplicable way, and crawls all over any agency that will accept him.”

“I take it,” Roy observes, taking a quick swallow of his caffeine, “that you don’t like him?”

“Go fuckin’ figure.” Ed rolls his eyes and wipes off the dust that was on his finger, nodding his head towards the table. “Folder came in for you this mornin’. I think they’ll be ready for you to start soon.”

Roy’s eyes shine with barely contained excitement, and even Ed can’t resist a small smile. He lets him open up the package uninterrupted, while he scoops up the papers from the floor and peers through them. Copies of an agenda from a week ago, receipts to the coffee place nearby, even a fan-letter or two. What do those things even _say? Oh, Mr. Mustang, you sexy beast, I can’t wait to see you in the Vanity Fair shoot, where I and the rest of the single mothers who visit my house every Tuesday night can fawn over your half-naked body. Oh, I swoon._ I nearly cried laughing while writing this line, I’m sorry. 

He grins to himself, deigning not to read the letters. He might be nosy, sure, but only where it concerns him. Mustang might be helpless without him, but he didn’t need a babysitter.

Ed turned to where Roy was frowning at the crinkled paper from its stay in the Basket, and sighs. Well. Doesn’t need a babysitter _most_ of the time.

“Glare at it all you want, it’s not gonna smooth itself out,” he comments helpfully.

Roy huffs and puts the paper down on his desk, smoothing it with his hands before he folds them and looks up at Edward. “Do you have the agenda for today?” The agenda was actually an idea Ed came up with alongside the editorial manager. Working with Roy constantly means he notices what helps him be more efficient, so he created a detailed plan of what Roy’s schedule for the day is. If there’s a shoot or a project coming up, he’ll work with Kain to design the agenda for the whole week. Poor Ed and his underappreciated talents. You’ll find love someday.

Ed shakes his head. “Lemme see if Kain has it yet.” He reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, grumbling when it nearly slips from his hand. He would have been perfectly content to retain his Nokia for as long as it would work, but Riza had other ideas. **He still keeps the Nokia, in his bedside table drawer, however.**

 _“You’re a professional, working for a professional agency, under a professional manager,”_ she’d said, calm voice impassive to his pleas. _“It is essential that you be able to do your job as efficiently and succinctly as possible, because believe me when I say that Roy Mustang_ will _occupy every minute of your time and every ounce of your energy.”_ Riza is the editorial manager, in case you haven’t figured that out yet. We’ll hear more about that later, but for now just know that an ‘editorial manager’ has a basically endless list of tiny jobs, so Riza will be pretty involved in a background sense. 

_Yeah, right,_ Edward had thought at the time. Look at him now: eating his own words, and shit.

So he thumbs through his iPhone 4 until he finds Kain’s number and shoots him a quick text. It’s his job to make sure that the agenda is completed and printed every morning, or whenever it’s required. Since _that_ wouldn’t be enough on his own, he’s also a backup technical assistant and helps Media with charity events, when they want to use Roy to help themselves stay in business longer.

_Yo Roy needs that agenda so I hope you got it_

The reply takes less than a minute; Ed is not-so-secretly envious of the sheer speed of Kain’s typing skills.

_Yeah, I have it. You can come pick up your copy, and Roy’s copy, which he will ignore._

Ed snorted, fingers flying across the keyboard. His tongue sticks out the edge of his mouth as he corrects a few typos.

_Fab. Be there in five._

Clicking his screen off and sticking it back in his pocket, he whirls around to look at Roy, who is reading the contents of the folder. His face is concentrated and serious, slats of light falling across the blackness of his hair and turning it almost purple. One hand covers his mouth as he reads, totally absorbed.

Suddenly realising that he’s been staring, and that’s definitely _not_ something he has time for, Ed moves towards the door. “I’m gonna pick up the agenda, Mustang. Be back in two. Maybe three; depends on office traffic.”

“Great,” Roy says, which is always a dead giveaway that he isn’t listening at all. For those of you out there who like MBTI, Roy is a hardcore ENTJ and it crops up a lot in this fic mostly through his absentmindedness. Some other ways, too.

“Your office is burning from the ground up, and our only possibility of escape is to leap through that window and hope we land on something,” Ed tries, voice perfectly calm. **He’s such a nice person, really. He astounds himself sometimes.**

Roy flips his page over, nodding. “Thank you, Edward.”

Ed rolls his eyes again, grabbing his coffee from the desk and going out the half-open door. The caffeine is cold as the frozen wastes of hell, but hey-coffee is coffee. Ed doesn’t have the luxury of complaining. He heads down the hall until he finds room 4, which Kain currently occupies.

The place is a mess of papers, a shredder or two, pens littered _everywhere,_ and Kain sitting in a small island at the front. The offices up on floor twelve are all bigger than the average office, and the small editor’s is no different; it’s about the size of a bedroom. Still, by some terrifying or supernatural force, there is trash in the form of papers everywhere.

“Kain,” Ed opens, tossing his empty cup in the trash bin. “What the fuck?”

The aforementioned man turns towards him, guilt written across his face. “Listen, I intend to clean it this afternoon. I’ve just been run off my _feet_ this past week and stuff just…” he glanced around at the sea of white. “…Accumulated.” Look at this tiny ISFJ, yo.

“Right. I’m not here to judge your personal office habits,” Ed consoles, clearly judging him. “D’ya have those papers?”

“Oh, um, yes!” Kain reaches across his desk and pulls out two neat, crisp sheets of paper. Attached to a clipboard and _everything_ -Ed had been looking for that one.

“Thanks a ton, Fuery,” Ed tosses over his shoulder, wading to safety and disappearing out the door. The whole floor is just _filled_ with a soft murmuring sound coming from all directions. Ed breathes in _Eau du Busy Office,_ letting it fuel his veins, almost half as good as coffee. **He should market that as an official perfume, really. Roy would buy it. Riza would revive herself with it.** He’s already got _one_ person hooked on caffeine; the last thing he needs to be worried about is himself.

He’s impressed to find Roy actually out of his desk area and looking down at the city, nose nearly pressed against the glass. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular; just looking, lost in thought. Ed’s eyes linger on the way the light softly frames him, the soft curve of his mouth in the reflective glass. Then he cleared his throat, moving to stand beside Roy. “Got the agenda for the day,” he informs, holding the papers up as if some sort of proof.

“Wonderful,” Roy turns and smiles at him; it’s an _early morning_ smile, where his face is too soft to be coy, still too busy waking up to let there be anything sly in it. Then he opens his mouth again, and loses it all. “Would you read it off to me?” Roy is actually not being a completely lazy shit. He’s an auditory learner, so he retains information best when he hears it. But he can also come across as a pompous asshole, so Ed is calling him on it. 

Ed scowls, thrusting one of the papers at his chest. “Read it your damn self, or have you gone blind?”

Roy sighs, taking the sheet from where Ed’s insistently poked it against his chest. His fingers close over Ed’s when he takes it, and Edward’s chest does a funny little twist.

“Thank you,” Roy says, scanning the document. Ed, still recovering, just points to Roy’s 12:30. “You’ve got lunch with Aaron again today.” Aaron is an OC, do not panic.

Roy sighs, batting Ed’s hand away. “What is he trying to prove with this? I agreed to the shoot; I signed the papers last _week,_ so why is he insisting on _another_ lunch outing?”

“’Lunch outing’ is a great phrase that means a very short word,” Ed smirks, taking a step back to scribble something down, leaning on his clipboard. “Maybe he’s just trying to make a good impression. Y’know he’s relatively new in this business; you’re his first big gig. He needs to make this easy for himself, and it’s perfectly natural that he’d want to be on your good side.”

“He’s _already_ on my good side, I’m very easy to win over,” Roy snorts. He drops the paper onto the coffee table, then frowns when he notices the dust. “Ed-?”

“Already on it,” Ed interrupts, not looking up.

Roy huffs out a laugh. “I suppose this is the appropriate time to ask, ‘What would I do without you?’.”

Ed snorts, heading towards _his_ desk, which sits across from Roy’s on the other side of the room. He sits heavily, spinning in the seat a few times. “Nothing. You’d hide at your desk and drown in paperwork.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Please do,” Ed replies, unlocking his computer.

Oh, he does love his computer. Phones be damned, but computers he can get behind. This model didn’t come out too long ago, and it was love at first sight with him. The only thing he loves more than his desktop computer is his laptop.

Roy must have sulked off to his desk again, leaving Ed behind the large screen of his computer in peace. In the welcome, if slightly suspicious silence following, he allows himself a small smile.

And people thought his job was _replaceable._

-=-=-=-=-

As much as the general populace liked to joke, (and ‘people’ admittedly included Ed) about Roy’s work ethic, Roy is definitely no slacker. From almost two years of watching him, Ed has figured out that Roy knows what reputation proceeds him. Encourages it, even-people assuming that he’s just another drama-making model means they underestimate how ruthlessly efficient he _can_ be. Giving him a distinct advantage of surprise that Ed admires, if secretly.

They work at their desks in relative silence until right after Eleven, at which point Roy shifts.

“Ed,” he says very seriously, “it’s a cappuccino day.”

“Huh,” Edward blinks, peering over his monitor. “Thought it was a mocha day.”

Roy makes a face. “Too much chocolate.”

“You love chocolate.”

“Not today!”

Ed locks his computer, gives it a pat, and throws on his jacket. Sometimes Roy’s reputation _is_ well-deserved. “Whelp.” He grabs his laptop bag. “Coffee’s not gonna brew itself.”

“If only,” Roy sighs, sounding regretful. **In a perfect world, Roy’s coffee would appear every morning, he would always get to the best shoots before his competitors could, and Ed would like him. Wait, no. Just the first two.**

Ed smirks, swinging his bag. “Bring the paperwork and we can get some shit done before you have lunch.”

Moving to catch up with him as they move down the hall, Roy holds up his briefcase as if in declaration of his innocence. “Got it here.”

“Cool.” Ed presses the Down button and the elevator dings. Once it arrives they step in, moving in smooth sync to stand side by side. Some annoying pop music plays from the speakers above as the elevator travels downwards; Ed would take the trashy original elevator jazz any day.

The door finally frees them from Trashy 2000’s, releasing them to the first floor. It’s just as busy as the 12th, but in a different way. This and floor 3 is for interns, tech managers, even a design artist or two.

The receptionist is there, too, of course, and offers them a friendly wave. “Morning, Ed! Roy.”

Ed smiles at her, lifting his hand in a returning wave. “’Sup.”

“Good morning,” Roy smiles at her, and then they’re both out on the sidewalk.  

“I still think she has a crush on you,” Roy comments.

Ed snorts, eyes on his phone. “I still think you’re full of shit.”

“This _weather_ is full of shit,” Roy responds, burying his free hand in the mile deep pocket of his overcoat, glancing at the sky like it has personally wronged him.

Ed, knee-deep in a barrage of text messages that he hasn’t checked since early that morning, looks up. He smiles, admiring the few clouds and the light breeze. “Heard it was gonna rain later.”

“Why do you sound so cheerful about that?” Roy demands, opening the door to the coffee shop since Ed’s hands are occupied. **It really is such a shame, Roy thought to himself. He should be occupying both of Ed’s hands.**

“Bad weather lifts my spirits,” he replies simply. “I’ll grab a table. Go order your morning hit.”

Roy makes a face at him. “It’s caffeine, not cocaine.”

“With you, it’s hard to tell the difference,” Ed tosses over his shoulder, spotting a free table conveniently far back. 

The barista knows them both very well at this point. So well, in fact, that he has ceased to be awed at all and instead devotes his energy trying to guess what coffee Roy wants each day.

“Lemme guess,” he interjects as Roy comes up to the front. “Caramel macchiato.”

“No,” Roy shakes his head.

“Americano.”

“Wrong again,” Roy says patiently.

The barista is getting desperate. “…Chai?” The barista isn’t awed anymore, but he sure is dedicated. 

Roy wrinkles his nose. “Repulsive. One cappuccino and one French roast, please.” Roy likes black tea, but he dislikes black coffee. Such a strange child. 

“I’ll get you someday,” the barista says. His nametag reads _Mazen,_ which Roy will really have to inquire about some day, because honestly. Mazen sighs, and starts firing up the machine.

Roy waits for his order and fights off a yawn, looking around until he sees Ed in the back. He’s typing away, glow of the computer reflecting on the panes of his reading glasses.

 _I_ adore _those glasses,_ Roy thinks, before he can stop himself.

It’s thoughts like these that give Roy existential issues. Most days he just passes it off; it’s no secret that he’d be a floundering mess of good clothes and bad scheduling without Ed. But sometimes he wonders if it goes beyond mere appreciative neediness and worries. But something like _feelings_ can’t afford to crop up right now, anyway-his brain knows that even if the funny feeling in his chest doesn’t.

“That’ll be $5.50,” Mazen says, snapping him out of his reverie.

Roy turns around and fishes out his wallet. “Much appreciated.”

The besmirched barista just hands him his coffees and turns to the next customer, one of which seems to be looking at Roy a little too close for his comfort. So, he grabs his cargo and (gracefully, of course) hurries away.

“I’ve missed my calling,” he announces, setting down his own coffee and holding out Ed’s. “I was obviously destined to be a barista, and it got lost in translation somewhere.” Someday I will write the Coffee shop fic spinoff for this AU. Or one of you can do it for me. 

Ed raises golden eyebrows into twin arches and accepts the cup. “I didn’t ask for coffee.” He sniffs it suspiciously.

“Sometimes I do nice things out of the goodness of my heart,” Roy is sitting now and accentuates the words by placing a hand over his heart. **Pledge allegiance to the flag of Mustang.**

Ed just stares at him stonily while he takes an experimental sip. Then his forehead smoothes itself and Roy gives himself a mental pat on the back. “Huh. You got it right.”

“I’m not _totally_ blind, you know,” Roy shoots back, drinking his cappuccino. Not even Ed’s jabbing can ruin his blissful caffeine-induced haze now.

“You’re getting there.” Ed flicks his attention back to his laptop.

“Let’s get to work; you need to be at _Fuhrer’s_ in an hour.”

“At least he picked a good spot,” Roy concedes, obviously still grumpy.

Ed grins. _Fuhrer’s_ was actually a pretty snazzy little spot, despite Roy’s complaining. They serve home-designed sandwiches, and were famous for their Sandwich Bradley. They also, incidentally, serve ice cream. Ed was sold after his first go. I apologise for nothing. 

They work in comfortable silence again, only breaking the quiet to ask about the phrasing in an agreement or which photographer Roy would rather work with. Before Ed knows it, Roy is tapping his shoulder.

“Tag,” he says.

Ed takes his glasses off, folding them into their case. “Wait, does that mean it’s time to go, or you desperately need to get out?”

“Both?”

“Fair ‘nuff.” Ed carefully powers off his computer and gently puts it back in its case. Roy and Ed developed a system after one too many uncomfortable situations; little gestures/phrases like this make it up. We’ll see more on that later. 

“You treat that laptop better than you do me,” Roy notes mournfully.

Ed picks up his case and grins wolfishly. “This computer ‘n I have a pure, symbiotic relationship.”

“Everyone can see that you don’t really love it,” Roy accuses as they leave the building. “You just use it for its body.” **Ed could always just use _his_ body. **

“Livy _is_ in top form,” Ed tosses back, patting his laptop bag and leaning into the breeze. Wisps of golden hair drift around his face, catching the sunlight. Roy wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, it corn silk really doesn’t compare, as he suspects it does not.

The walk to _Fuhrer’s_ is a brief one, and admittedly, Roy enjoys the exercise. Even cappuccinos come at a price, and it’s not one he can just swipe away with his debit card. Ed seems to love his coffee almost as much, but since he’s always going to get it for Roy, it’s less noticeable. Or maybe Ed has just wormed his way into Mazen’s heart better than Roy has.

He shakes his head. Impossible.

“Yo, you’re about to walk past the doorway.” Ed reaches out an arm to physically stop him, sliding his phone into his pants’ pocket. “Aaron’s over _there,_ ” he points to the uncovered eating area, where their mutual acquaintance is waving excitedly.

Roy huffs a breath and turns in the right direction. “This is going to be an ordeal.”

“Relax,” his assistant insists, nearly pushing him forward. “You get free food out of it, at least, right?”

“ _Some_ of us have thoughts that branch beyond our stomachs, Edward,” Roy tosses back with no real venom.

Ed just scoffs and grins at Aaron, now that they’re in earshot. He lifts a hand in a wave and then rests his hands on the edge of the chair across from Aaron’s. Roy’s eyes flick down to them almost subconsciously; they’re such small hands, but you can see a myriad of tiny scars, smooth nailbeds, surprisingly clean. Roy could probably hold both of them in just one of his. Then he looks back up quickly, and Aaron is smiling at him expectantly.

“Did we keep you long?” He inquires, straightening his back.

“No, no, not at all. Is your PA joining us for lunch?”

Roy nods, making the immediate decision that _yes,_ Edward will be joining them. Ed looks at him questioningly, eyebrow raised. “I’m staying?”

Roy hopes that the silent plea in his eyes is strong enough to break through Ed’s usual obliviousness. _I don’t want to sit through another lunch alone with this person._ Even as an extrovert, a smooth, suave motherfucker, poor Roy is nothing without Ed. 

Whether he gets it or just doesn’t care, Ed pulls out the chair his hands were resting on moments before. He plops down in his seat and picks up a paper menu, eyes already glued to the options.

Since Ed is now MIA, Roy folds his hands on top of the table and turns towards their guest. “What are you having?”

“Oh, their Sandwich Bradley, of course,” Aaron nods to the menu. “It’s famous in this city, you know.”

Roy keeps the slight distaste out of his face, but he can sense Ed smiling behind his menu. “You know, I never really cared for that sandwich.” Aaron has just fucked up in Roy’s book.

“Real shame.”

A waitress comes over a few moments later and takes their drink orders (three waters, one with extra lemon for Ed). By the time she comes back with her tray of iced hydrogen monoxide, Roy has elected what he wants.

Ed orders a BLT, in typical Edwardian fashion. He always liked things that were simple, and the more bacon, the better.

Aaron, of course, gets the Sandwich Bradley with a side of potato salad.

Roy gets a Martin’s muffin, which he has never tried before in his life, and judging by the description, this is a source of great tragedy. It’s this _amazing_ sandwich with roast beef, brie cheese and sometimes arugula on a sandwich bun.

Aaron, it turns out, had a bigger agenda in meeting them for lunch than a bite together as comrades. The magazine he edits for is very pleased to have Roy on board, but they want a guarantee that he won’t just model the photos and skedaddle. This, Aaron explains, happened with someone last year and the magazine has been a little on their toes ever since.

“Quite understandable,” Roy nods, although the idea of modelling for charity seems a bit absurd to him.

Ed had explained already that this month’s issue would give half their profits to two local charities, and since Roy was making his way quite smoothly upwards, they were certain that it would drag in more profits from customers. Roy understood what Ed was saying at the time, but it still didn’t strike a chord with him. Regardless of the fact that it was for charity, it felt a little like peddling his body for profit.

Upon hearing this, his PA just raised his eyebrows. “Mustang, you’re a _model._ Peddling your body is basically the job description.” It’s true.

“This feels like prostitution,” Roy had grumbled over his second cup of coffee.

“Hey, in Singapore, prostitution is a legitimate business. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Ed comments cheerfully. “So stop whinin’.”

When their sandwiches arrive, Ed gets a blissful few moments of quiet that are almost half as nice as the sandwich. Roy can judge him all he wants; this bacon is amazing.

By the time they finish eating, it’s almost 1:30, and Ed firmly reminds Roy that he has a 1:30 appointment that day. Some guy had _somehow_ brought in the completely wrong wardrobe for Roy’s upcoming shoot, and so they’d finally got it in and needed to make sure it all fit.

“Talk to you soon,” Aaron waves at them as they make their departure.

“Hopefully later than sooner,” Roy mutters under his breath, and Ed snorts. He pulls out his clipboard from his bag and holds it up to Roy, so that Roy can ascertain that the appointment is, in fact, at 2:00.

Ed completely bullshitted a half hour of absolutely nothing, and Roy would never have thought of that. Probably because he can barely remember what he ate for breakfast, let alone what his schedule says.

He blinks for a moment, **looking like he might drop to his knees then and there.** “Marry me,” he says. Unfortunately for Ed, Roy really likes his pants. 

Ed holds up both hands. “Both a little busy for that, Mustang. ‘Sides, you’d be cheating on your job.”

“Relationships _are_ such a trial,” Roy sighs.

Ed mimes blowing a kiss, eyes fixed on his phone. **He hopes Roy doesn’t catch the redness on his cheeks.**

-=-=-=-=-


	2. Visuals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't have an entire chapter of extras and notes, ect. so please accept this set of visuals.

Alright, so for a long time, I was looking around for a male actor I could use to help me get a grip of what Roy is like. His character in the anime is very hard to translate to a real person, so I wasn't exactly going for accuracy. Just someone who could look suave but also fucking stupid. But in an endearing way. Y'know. 

With help from the ever-patient 'Clocks, we decided on Sebastian Stan. Below are just ramblings and over-excited inspirations.

 

 

_What if Roy does this when he's happy about how a shoot went or he and Ed stayed up until 2 AM to work and they pulled it off before the deadline and Ed hates how cute he finds it._

_"Goddammit you fucking fuck, stop making me want to kiss you."_

_"What was that?"_

_**Louder** "I said "Stop making me want to hit you." _

 

__****   


 

_So this is how Roy smiles to the public; sweet and suave and just a little wolfish._

 

it's always the same grin, because it's so practiced

 

 

_And this is how he smiles at Ed._

 

 

_And this is how he smiles at_ just Ed.

 

whoah okay why does sebastian stan not come with parental warnings

 

_Roy is just so used to having to smile at people; he has it down to a science. But around Ed it just. Happens. He never has to think about it and that is so refreshing to him._

 

 

 

_Roy is probably a very 'classic' model and likes doing a lot of sharp, clean shoots rather than a barrage of colour or clothing._

_Because he always says that he's modelling himself, not Mardi Gras._

 

 

_Ed shoves this photo at Roy after Roy did that shoot a few days ago and it's finally come out, like, "Why do you never put in this much effort when we go to eat, Mustang?"_

_"You're not one to talk; don't go to a lunch interview or you'll scare off your potential employer with the way you eat fries."_

_"Why would I bother when I know that you appreciate my eating habits just fine?"_

_"By 'Appreciate' I think you mean 'Put up with'."_

_"With more bitching than a newborn puppy. You should appreciate me more, Mustang."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to hell.


	3. Chapter 4 Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more pictures/headcanons, ect. There IS no extra for chapter 3, so don't be alarmed by thinking you missed it.

"Man Desperate for Coffee and Love Seeks Vengeance" 

If anyone has any brilliant suggestions for an Alphons face ref, it really helps me. I like some of Dylan O'Brien's expressions (I think they'd fit Alphons even if his face definitely does not).

Yes, no, maybe so?

I headcanon that Roy has no idea how to dress casually. Ed is confused on how to dress formally. Together, they make one decently and appropriately dressed individual.

 

Alphons and Alphonse DO meet. I'm actually excited about it. :) 

I'll probably add more to this later, but I'm currently in class and, well, you know. :P Thanks as always for reading!

 


	4. Chapter 6 Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some ideas that inspired the clothes for each shoot.

Inspiration for May Chang. 

 

 

Inspiration for Elysia. (I know the little girl is Asian, but I saw the dress and it just screamed "ELYSIA" at me.)

 

 

Loose inspiration for Roy. 

 

 

So-loose-it's-hanging-by-a-thread inspiration for Ling. (Mostly just the pants and the fact that the shirt has a collar.)

 

I was talking with 'Clocks about this, actually, and I suggested this: 

 

 

And it was like, "Honestly, you could put him in this and he'd probably wear it. 90% likelihood." :D

 

 

Dear Roy narrowly escaped this ridiculous getup; he was only saved by the fact that in the fic it's drawing near to summer, so a sweater wouldn't really be appropriate. EVEN for New York...


	5. Chapter 8 Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing, train seats, you know the game.

 

Insp. for Roy's casual street-wear.

 

Idea for train/subway seating. 

LOOK AT HIS TINY HOBO OUTFIT GUYS. (I like to envision this as his 'change of clothes' in the suitcase.)


End file.
